


Safe

by GraeWrites



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Blood, Exhaustion, Gen, Heavy Angst, Insomnia, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Panic Attack, nausea mention, nightmares involving major character death, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 02:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15281325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: Virgil keeps having nightmares of his worst fear. The solution, of course, is to just stop sleeping altogether.





	Safe

**Author's Note:**

> Still feels like this fic fell a little short of the idea in my head, but I hope you all like it anyway! Please let me know!

irgil jolts awake with a gasp catching sharply in his throat.

His heart is pounding in his ears, his legs tangled in the sheets. His chest heaves, the room spinning for a second. Virgil’s shaking hands fist in the blanket. The shadows in his bedroom swirl around him. The clock tells him it’s almost four in the morning.

He can still feel the Prince’s hand clutching his shirt, his grip growing weaker and weaker. He can still smell the copper sting of blood, can still feel it coating his hands and seeping into his black jeans as he knelt beside him, Roman’s voice begging between sobs–

 _In for four,_  he reminds himself before sucking in a tight breath slowly. Virgil walks himself through the breathing exercise a few times until he feels able to relax his death grip on the bedding around him and his lungs aren’t shaking quite as much. He can still feel his heart hammering against his ribcage, but he has a feeling it will be a while before that calmed down.

 _Not real. Wasn’t real. Roman’s fine._ Virgil repeats the thoughts like a mantra in his head as if it might keep the waves of doubt and skepticism from completely overtaking him.

He’d just seen Roman earlier that day. The two of them had listened to the Dear Evan Hansen soundtrack together before dinner. The prince had shown him his most recent Instagram posts, had sung along when “Sincerely, Me” came on. He’d changed the lyric “but not because we’re gay” to “we are extremely gay” because  _everything could always be gayer_ , and Virgil had snorted with laughter. He’d rolled his eyes when the prince beamed at him.

Roman is  _fine_.  

And yet.

Virgil has Roman’s vacant, lifeless stare seared behind his eyes. He can still feel the way Roman’s grip in his hoodie went slack.

 _Roman died._  Virgil had watched, helpless and powerless, as the life drained out of the Prince still fighting so hard to hold on and—

Virgil’s hands start to shake again and the room is suddenly  _too hot_. He kicks the covers off his legs—harder than necessary but he can feel the panic welling up inside his chest and he has to get  _out_ , he has to check, he has to be  _sure, absolutely sure_ —and is out of his room in the next moment.

…

Virgil shoves his hands deeply into the pockets of his hoodie, the hood pulled up over his hair, as he pads his way down the hallway to the door to Roman’s room. He stops short with his hand on the doorknob.  _I’m being stupid_ , he tells himself.

But he can’t stop seeing the way Roman’s bright, pooling blood matched the red sash across his white suit as it leaked out from under the prince. The wide, blind terror in his eyes.

The Anxious Side cracks the door open and peers into Roman’s bedroom, holding his breath. He doesn’t enter. He doesn’t want to  _stay_  he just has to make sure. He has to be certain. He needs proof.

Roman lays under a pile of blankets on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow. His hair is a mess across his face, but Virgil can see—even under the blankets—the faint rise and fall of his chest. He can hear Roman’s breathing after a moment, and some of the tightness in Virgil’s stomach loosens. He quietly clicks the door shut and runs a hand across his eyes.

_He’s fine. He’s alive and just asleep and it’s okay._

Regardless, Virgil can tell from the way his heartbeat is still a bit too fast that he probably isn’t getting back to sleep any time soon. Virgil trudges back to his room, grabbing his phone and headphones before making his way to the kitchen for a drink of water.

He slips the headphones over his ears under the hood of his sweatshirt and pulls up the audiobook— _Carry On_  by Rainbow Rowell—that he had been listening to using Logan’s Christmas gift, and takes in a deep, slow breath.

…

Virgil is stretched out on the couch in the common space when he hears the quiet  _whoosh_  indicating the arrival of one of the Sides.

“Virgil?”

The Anxious Side opens his eyes—he hadn’t been asleep, just stretched out on the couch with his eyes closed listening to the audiobook—and runs a hand across his eyes as he sits up and pulls the headphones off his ears. “Hey, Patton.”

The father figure is looking worriedly at him. Early morning sun streams in through the blinds. “You’re up early. Everything okay, kiddo?”

Virgil pulls the hood off his head. He lifts a shoulder. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of the nightmare he had and worry Patton, especially when it wasn’t necessary. And one bad dream, no matter how rough it might’ve been, wasn’t anything Virgil couldn’t deal with on his own. Besides, as tired as he felt at least his heartbeat was back to normal.  _It had just been a dream_.

“Woke up and just couldn’t fall back asleep,” Virgil says, settling on a half-truth.

Patton looks like he doesn’t completely believe him, but he lets the comment slide regardless. “Well, since you’re up anyway, wanna help me make some French toast for breakfast?”

Virgil nods. He could use the distraction anyway. “Yeah. Sure. First thing first, though.” He holds up his index finger and then points to Patton. “Coffee.”

The Moral Side smiles and chuckles. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

The two of them busy themselves with preparing breakfast. Patton makes idle chatter about Valerie’s upcoming performance that Thomas was going to later today. Virgil sits on the counter, listening and chiming in when necessary. He whisks the eggs in the bowl that Patton hands him.

Patton places the first batch of bread on the griddle before turning to look at Virgil again. “You sure you’re okay, Virge?”

He arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, Patton. Why?”

Patton lifts a shoulder. “You’re sitting on the counter instead of a chair. I know you usually do that kind of thing when you’re having a rough time.”

Virgil ducks his head a little and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh. I mean—“

“Salutations,” Logan says, interrupting Virgil as he enters the kitchen. He grabs a mug with the NASA logo out of the cupboard and pours a quarter of what’s left in the coffee pot.

“Morning, Logan,” Patton says cheerily. “French toast?”

The Logical Side smooths his tie down as he takes a seat at the table. “Please. Thank you.”

“ _Good mornin’, good mornin’!_ ” Roman sings—Virgil recognizes the tune from when Thomas had performed in  _Singin’ in the Rain_ —as he strides into the kitchen.

Virgil swallows as he looks at the prince. His white suit and red sash are intact, without the rips and bloodstains he’d seen in his nightmare. Roman’s hair is swept to the side in its traditional, immaculate fashion. His face shows no sign of the dirt and tear tracks that had marked them in Virgil’s dream.

Roman, instead, is alive and beaming and  _singing_  and the Anxious Side feels the last of the tight threads in his stomach loosen.  _Just a nightmare_.

Virgil jumps down from the counter and grabs a plate as Patton starts pulling the first batch of French toast off the griddle, taking a seat beside Logan. Everything is okay.

…

“Uh, Logan?” Virgil asks later that afternoon as he walks through the kitchen to see the Logical Side staring intently at a chess-board. Nobody sits across from him. “You do know chess is a two player game, right?”

Logan glances at him, his fingers steepled in front of his face. “I am aware that is customary, yes. However, Roman is a bit too… emotionally invested in order to be a worthy adversary and Patton, though reluctant to admit it, finds the game largely uninteresting.”

Virgil looks at the board again. None of the pawns have moved yet. Dozens of potentials flicker through the Anxious Side’s mind before he looks at Logan again. The Logical Side tilts his head slightly.

“Virgil,” he says, “you wouldn’t potentially be interested in engaging a game of chess with me, would you?”

“Uh,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I haven’t played much. I doubt I’ll be very good.”

“Such a qualifier on your potential performance is noted, but arbitrary in this circumstance,” Logan replies. “If you have no legitimate interest in playing, that is reason enough to decline. But you do not need to be concerned about the level of skill. That comes with practice and time.”

Virgil lifts a shoulder and slides into the chair at the table across from him, surveying the board. Logan makes the first move.

Virgil isn’t sure how much times passes. Roman and Patton come in and out of the kitchen at various intervals, both of them arching surprised eyebrows at Virgil sitting across from Logan with a chessboard between them, but neither saying anything for risk of breaking the two’s concentration.

For every move Logan makes, Virgil sees countless possible outcomes ahead, each deviant from the other depending on his particular choice. He supposes being the Anxious Side made such foresight easier—predicting potential outcomes of any given situation was a large part of what he did for Thomas so that he can be aware of the path of least risk. Every time Virgil took one of Logan’s pieces, he saw a note of surprise and faint admiration in the Logical Side’s eyes.

“Logan?” Virgil asks as the Logical Side surveys the board closely, about half the pieces of both sides taken.

“Hm?” He slides his bishop a few spaces before looking up.

“You play this a lot, don’t you?”

Logan considers the question before adjusting the frame of his glasses. “‘A lot’ is a subjective term, but I do play it with relative regularity. I find it intellectually stimulating, calming, and introspective.”

Virgil’s eyes flit quickly over the board. “What do you mean?” He moves his knight, taking one of Logan’s pawns.

“Chess is, in some ways, the application of statistics and probability. But that probability is given a particular variable that is much more difficult to account for: the actions and reactions of another person.” Logan moves his rook to protect his queen, causing Virgil to rethink his next move.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d like that aspect of it,” Virgil replies.

“On the contrary, it provides an added layer of intellectual challenge.” Logan shrugs. “Additionally, it requires a cognizant awareness on my part of how I am reacting to others. Intellectually speaking.”

Virgil sees how Logan’s bishop is poised to take his queen in the next move and quickly moves it out of the way.

“Even though I cannot fully predict variables outside of my control,” Logan continues, “I can do my best to predict in order to prepare. And I can and do control how I react when I am unable to be accurate in such predictions. Chess is a more… controlled environment than the real world for such things, but nevertheless.” He moves his bishop.

Virgil glances at the Side across from him, his brow pulled together slightly in concentration. The corner of the Anxious Side’s mouth quirks in a brief smile. He always appreciated Logan’s company. Logan was always grounded and comforting in his rationality in ways that the other two Sides simply couldn’t be.

The rest of the game plays out mostly in silence, but there was something about quietness around Logan that was more calming than worrying. At least to Virgil. The night drags into late hours, almost midnight, before Virgil sees his opening.

A few moves later, and he leans back in his chair. “Checkmate, Logan.”

Logan stares at the chessboard for a long moment, almost as if in disbelief. “So it would seem,” he says eventually, looking faintly impressed.

Virgil arches a skeptical eyebrow. “You didn’t throw the game?”

“Why on earth would I have done that?” The Logical Side looks almost insulted.

Virgil shakes his head. “Uh, never mind.”

Logan stands up from the table. “You did a good job, Virgil. You were strategic, calculating, and surprising at times. I… had a good time. And should you be interested, I would enjoy a re-match.” He offers a small smile.

Virgil smiles back. “Me too, Logan.”

…

Virgil jolts awake with tears falling back into his hair line.

Over and over again, all Virgil can see in the dark is the way the light faded from Logan’s eyes behind crooked glasses.

Virgil is shaking. Every part of him is trembling and he presses a hand against his mouth to stop the rising sob in his throat. Logan’s head in his lap, the drop of blood leaking out the corner of his mouth.

_Logan dying in his arms._

“Not real,” Virgil says, desperately trying to believe it. It had felt real. It had felt  _so real_. Virgil had been sobbing into his hair, Logan saying how he felt cold, how he—

Virgil couldn’t save him. He hadn’t been able to stop it. To stop any of it.

 _First Roman. Now Logan_.

“Not real,” he tells himself again, but the doubt reverberates in his words and against the dark walls of his room.

 _You’re supposed to protect them_.

“Shut up,” Virgil says aloud.

_Just because it was a dream doesn’t mean it can’t come true._

The thought takes the rest of the air out of Virgil’s lungs. He sits on his bed, his fingers buried in his hair and curling against his scalp, trying to breathe. Trying to not hear Logan rattling off statistics to him, getting bleaker and bleaker until he finally tells Virgil that he thinks he’s dying. Trying to erase the raw and unchecked fear he saw in Logan’s eyes as the realization settles into him but he  _can’t_.

Virgil can’t stop seeing it.

…

Virgil appears in the Mindscape kitchen with his hood pulled up over his hair and his bangs falling even more across his eyes than normal. He makes a beeline for the coffee pot as Patton scrambles some eggs in a skillet. He’d checked on Logan last night in a blind panic, but the Logical Side had been sound asleep in his unicorn onesie with a book beside him. Virgil had gone back to his room and stared at the ceiling. He never fell back asleep.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!” Patton says brightly.

“Mm… Morning…”

Roman—seated at the table across from Logan—arches an eyebrow. “Everything Gucci, Gomez?” Virgil gives him exhausted but confused stare. Roman sighs, then rolls his eyes. “Gomez Addams? From the Addams’ Family? I thought you of all people would—“

Virgil holds up a hand. “No, I get it.”

“Virgil, are you all right?” Logan asks. The sound of the Logical Side’s voice—calm, smooth, natural—is such a stark contrast to the hoarse, weak whispers it had faded to in his dreams that Virgil nearly drops his mug. He sags a little against the counter, swallows, and then drains the pot into the mug.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.”

“You sure, kiddo?” Patton asks.

Virgil gives him a tight smile. “Just didn’t sleep well. Nothing a little coffee can’t fix.”

The Anxious Side is relieved when the rest of them seem to accept the answer. Roman mentions something about getting ready for brainstorming with Joan and how he was excited for their input on the newest video idea he’d thought up. The kitchen fills with idle chatter about the upcoming day and Virgil takes in a deep breath behind the lip of the coffee mug before taking a long swallow.

…

“Hey, kiddo.”

It’s the middle of the afternoon when Patton walks up to Virgil, two mugs in his hand. The Anxious Side is sitting by the window in the Mindscape commons, watching the raindrops race down the glass. Roman had fabricated this window to reflect whatever weather was in Thomas’s present location. Virgil looks up as the Moral Side approaches.

He takes the cup that Patton stretches out to him, glancing into it to see the top covered in small marshmallows. Hot chocolate.

“Thought you could maybe use a break from the coffee,” Patton says with a faint smile.

The corner of Virgil’s mouth curls up slightly. “Thanks, Patton.”

There’s a brief moment of silence in which Virgil can feel the father figure’s gaze watching him closely. Virgil shifts slightly before Patton speaks up again. “I was thinking about making some shortbread thumbprint cookies since we have so much of that Logan’s Berry jam.” There’s a certain hopefulness in his eyes.

Virgil catches invitation for what it is and takes a long sip of the cocoa. “Can I help?” he asks, wondering if maybe baking with Patton would be just the thing to shake off the lingering nerves from the night before.

Patton breaks into a smile. “Well of course!” he says enthusiastically. “I’d love that.”

Virgil unfolds his legs from underneath him and follows Patton into the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients from the cupboards as the Moral Side reads them off the recipe out loud. Before long, the kitchen is covered in flour, sugar, jam, and way more mixing bowls than should have been necessary for cookies. Virgil had also heard more jam and cookie-related puns than he would’ve thought possible.

“Virge, could you put this in the sink for me?” Patton asks, handing a wooden spoon to the Anxious Side.

Virgil looks at towering dishes in the sink. “Patton, the sink is full.”

Patton glances at it over his shoulder, then gets that look in his eyes and Virgil knows what’s coming even before the Moral Side says it. “I guess you could say the sink is…  _jam-packed_?”

“ _Berry_  astute of you,” Virgil quips without thinking. Patton laughs, and the sound makes Virgil smile.

“Virgil, your sense of humor seems to be  _flour_ -ing.”

Both of them hear a loud groan, undoubtedly Logan, followed by the sound of a book slamming shut and the quiet  _whoosh_  indicating him sinking out.

“I guess you could say,” Patton mumbles loud enough for the Anxious Side to hear, “Logan’s temper when it comes to puns is a bit short… bread.”

Virgil snorts, then claps a hand across his mouth to stifle the laughter. Patton smiles at him before sliding an oven mitt on his hand and grabbing the tray of unbaked cookies. Virgil opens the oven door and closes it after the Moral Side slides the tray in. He leans against the counter, watching Patton as he sets the oven mitts beside the stove and turns the faucet over the sink on.

The Moral Side hums quietly to himself, grabbing a brush and some dish soap. Virgil can see a faint dusting of flour in Patton’s hair, though he has no idea how it ended up there. He looks comfortable and relaxed, radiating a soft warmth that Virgil had always marveled at. Just being around Patton helped Virgil feel safe and like he belonged. His enduring positivity offered a particular kind of balance that Virgil often really needed.

“I wash, you dry?” Patton asks him, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Virgil nods and grabs a dish cloth. “You got it, Pat.”

…

“ _No!_ ” Virgil’s choked plea tears past his lips as he jolts awake.

It had been Patton this time.

Virgil’s shirt clings to his chest, damp with sweat. He’s breathing hard and fast and for a moment he isn’t even sure where he is. But he can still feel Patton’s weight against him as he collapses against the Anxious Side.

He can feel the soft texture of the blue polo stained brightly with splatters of blood, Virgil’s hands shoved desperately against it. He can feel Patton’s hand against his cheek, telling him not to cry even as Patton’s own brown irises fill with tears. Virgil feels like he’s still watching the life fade from his eyes, pain replacing the usual brightness in them. He can still hear Patton asking where he is just as the last of the light flickers out, Virgil choking back tears as he brushes the hair out of his eyes and just repeats that he’s there over and over and  _over_  again.

“No…” Virgil grits out behind clenched teeth.

_Roman, Logan, now Patton. Can’t save them. Not even in your dreams._

Virgil blindly grabs a pillow and shoves his face into it, muffling the sobs that wrack his body.  _Not real_ , part of him whispers.  _But it could be_ , the other part yells. Virgil hears a quiet thump and looks up. He’d knocked a picture frame off his nightstand, along with the card Patton had made him. It stares up at him from the carpet, fallen open to show the “ILY” and the drawing of the four of them.

Patton’s quiet cry of pain echoes in Virgil’s mind. It’s a sound he never wants to hear the Moral Side make.

Just like he never wants to see that kind of fear in Roman’s eyes again, the bravery and bravado irreparably broken. Just like he never wants to hear Logan tell him that he thinks he’s dying in that weak, resigned whisper. The threat of it all becoming reality settles hard and heavy and icy in his stomach with enough weight to make him faintly nauseous.

He decides then—still trembling in the dark as the images of them lifeless in his arms flash through his mind—that he will do anything to keep that from happening.

…

The Anxious Side spends most of the following day drinking coffee and finding ways to keep himself busy. He can feel the exhaustion creeping into his muscles but the thought of falling asleep carries with it the images from his dreams again. He doesn’t want to experience those dreams anymore. Even more than that, he can’t run the risk of them coming true.

He’s the protector, after all.

“Virgil, how many cups of coffee have you had today?” Logan asks him that evening. Virgil sits at the kitchen table. Patton has already gone to bed.

“Um.” If the Anxious Side is being honest, he’s forgotten. “Five?” he guesses.

Logan frowns at him. “Consuming such a substantial amount of caffeine is likely to disrupt your circadian rhythm.”

Virgil’s fingers curl around the curve of the mug in front of him. He lifts a shoulder. “I hardly have a normal sleeping schedule anyway, Pocket Protector,” he tells him, hoping his tired voice still manages to come across lightheartedly.

The Logical Side eyes the mug in his hands. “Are you  _still_  drinking coffee at this hour? Caffeine’s half-life is four to six hours. You’ll be up all night if you continue.”

 _That’s kind of the idea_ , Virgil thinks dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind, Logan.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, peering closer at Virgil as he adjusts the frame of his glasses. He looks like he’s going to say something before he closes his mouth in a grim line. “Try to get some rest, Virgil,” he says instead. “Intentionally pulling late hours for no discernable reason is not a healthy habit to get into.”

Virgil gives him a small mock-salute. “Duly noted.”

…

Days go by. Virgil isn’t sure exactly how many as the hours blend into one another. The Anxious Side does his best to stay awake, nearly always with coffee or an energy drink in his hand. Virgil spends most of his days in the Mindscape Commons, watching the other Sides carefully. He spends most of the nights shuffling around the Mindscape, occasionally checking in on one or more of the Sides when the images from his dreams get to feel too real again and he needs the reminder. He does his best to make sure he doesn’t wake them up. He distracts himself with watching YouTube videos and scrolling through Tumblr. Anything to keep him from falling asleep as much as he can.

As the days pass by, Virgil notices Patton giving him worried looks when he thinks the Anxious Side doesn’t notice. Virgil pretends not to. What is he supposed to say? His nightmares are inside his head. They’re his own worst fear; how is someone else supposed to help with that?

He sees the way Logan’s frown and vaguely disappointed look seems to deepen every time he sees Virgil with a coffee or energy drink can in his hand, but the Anxious Side brushes it off. Logan doesn’t get it: if Virgil is asleep, then not only can he not protect them all, but he is forced to relive one of them dying again.

 _I’ve always aimed to protect you_ , he’d told Thomas. Told all of them. And he’d meant it. Sometimes Virgil could overdo it, he knew that, but keeping all of them safe was his job. And now every time he closed his eyes, Virgil faces the worst consequence that could come from his falling short. He sees pain and fear in their eyes and it fills Virgil with an overwhelming sense of both. He can’t lose them. He just  _can’t_.

The nightmares won’t stop. Any time Virgil sits for too long and his eyes drift shut, he sees and feels and hears one of them dying in his arms all over again and Virgil jolts awake trembling and sweating. At first, Virgil wondered with a kind of sick detachment whether he could just get used to the nightmares. Become numb to them. But there’s no  _getting used to_ watching one of them die and being powerless to stop it. Every single time is as fresh and raw and gut-wrenching as the first time.

Did it always have to feel so damn  _real_?

…

“Logan, would you just lay off?” Virgil snaps one day, crushing the now-empty energy drink can in his hands. It had been nearly a week of Virgil trying to sleep as little as possible, his nerves already frayed from the repeated nightmares and lack of rest. Logan’s constant badgering about his sleep schedule and caffeine intake definitely wasn’t helping. “I can handle myself!”

“Kiddo,” Patton says, placating, “Logan’s just trying to make sure—“

“Yeah, I know that,” Virgil interrupts, trying to take some of the bite out of his voice for Patton’s sake. From the slightly taken aback look in the father figure’s eyes, he’s pretty sure he failed.

“No need to yell at Patton, King Sneer,” Roman quips defensively. “Geez, what’s gotten into you recently?”

Virgil pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “ _Nothing_ , alright?”

“Falsehood,” Logan cuts in definitively, his gaze sharpening behind his glasses. “Virgil, how much sleep did you get last night?”

 _I didn’t_. Virgil clenches his jaw shut for a moment, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“How much, Virgil?” Logan demands sharply.

“Now Logan,” Patton cuts in, taking a step between them even as they stood on opposite ends of the kitchen. “We all know Virgil sometimes sleeps at odd hours.”

“Of course,” Logan replies, his gaze not leaving the Anxious Side even as he adjusts the frame of his glasses. “But he always does get sleep. Given the startling amount of caffeine he’s been consuming this week, I am inclined to believe otherwise.”

Virgil feels abruptly cornered by the stove. Logan stands across the kitchen at the only exit. Patton stands in front of him. Roman sits at the table. The kitchen feels close and crowded. Virgil blinks a few times. The questions and yelling and tightness of space all start to press around him.

“You  _have_  been drinking enough energy drinks to give the Energizer Bunny a run for its money,” Roman says, but his voice sounds a bit distant to Virgil.

“Virgil?” Patton asks, taking a step towards him but everything is  _too much too close_  and Virgil is just trying to protect them  _can’t they see that?!_

“I… I have to go,” Virgil says suddenly. Someone says his name but he sinks out of the kitchen before he can even identify the voice.

…

Virgil rises up in his room and slowly lowers himself to the floor. His breathing is quick and shallow. His heart is racing, pounding against his ribs and thudding in his ears. He screws his eyes shut tightly as if doing so might be enough to stop the images flashing through his mind of Roman’s bloodied chest, Patton’s teary and pained eyes, Logan’s ghostly pale face….

All of their gazes eventually becoming blank and empty and lifeless.

He just wanted to protect them, needed to protect them,  _had to protect them._

Virgil can’t catch his breath.

The kitchen had felt crowded and loud and all of them were mad at him and he doesn’t know what to  _do_.

Virgil’s breath comes in hiccupping gasps.

Every time he closes his eyes, he watches one them die and there’s nothing Virgil can  _do_  about it. The helplessness shreds through his chest and Virgil will do anything to not be reduced to that in the real world. He has to keep them safe.

Virgil is shaking but he can’t  _stop_. There’s a strange noise and Virgil realizes distantly a moment later that he’s the one making it. His breath wheezing faintly as it rushes quickly in and out of his lungs.

“Virge?”

Is someone saying his name? The voice is distantly familiar but he can barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing through his ears, his own breathing loud and fast and shallow.

“Virgil,” the voice repeats. Virgil feels something land on his head and he flinches so hard he falls back slightly.

“Whoa, okay, okay, okay. I won’t touch you. I’m sorry. Can you look at me? Can you open your eyes?”

It takes him a moment to process the request through torrent of thoughts— _I have to protect them, keep them safe, they’re dying in my arms and I can’t stop it, I have to stop it—_ but Virgil slowly opens his eyes. Roman is crouched in front of him, his hands extended out towards the Anxious Side but not touching him, his brow pulled together in concern above wide eyes.

“There ya go,” Roman says and his voice is softer than Virgil can ever remember it being. “Let’s do that breathing thing Talyn taught us, huh? In for… four seconds, right?”

Virgil nods.

“Great,” the prince says encouragingly. “Ready? In. One…” As Roman counts, Virgil tries to anchor himself to Roman’s voice, but his breathing is too fast and too shallow and Virgil exhales before Roman’s even reached three.

“Sorry, I—“ Virgil gasps out.

Roman shakes his head. Virgil can see the darkening eyeshadow beginning to form already.  _You’re putting him at greater risk_ , Virgil realizes, and it brings a whole new wave of panic. “Roman, y-you…”

“Ssshh. We’re gonna try again. Ready?”

“ _No_ ,” Virgil says, shaking his head and closing his eyes again, the distortion abruptly saturating his voice. “ _Roman…_ ”

“Fine,” Roman says, and Virgil feels an odd tug in his gut before feeling faintly lightheaded. “Better?” The Prince asks. Virgil opens his eyes. They’re in the Mindscape commons again. A neutral space.

Virgil swallows and nods a little again.

“Great,” Roman says. “Now breathe with me, Virge. In for one…” Roman counts out loud again and Virgil is finally able to suck in a slow, tense breath. He can’t quite hold it for the full seven counts and exhales in a rush when Roman reaches five. But after a few tries, Virgil’s breathing evens out to match the Creative Side’s.

Roman gives him a small, sincere smile. “You did great, Virgil.”

The Anxious Side isn’t sure what feeling is stronger: embarrassment or exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Roman.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jack Sorrow,” Roman tells him softly.

Virgil groans at the pounding headache he can feel squeezing at his skull. He sags a little into the throw pillows on the couch beside him and closes his eyes.

“Get some sleep,” he hears Roman tell him softly. “You need it.”

Virgil wants to argue, force himself to stay awake, but exhaustion consumes his system and he’s fast asleep.

…

_It was all three of them this time._

Logan, then Roman, then Patton. One right after the other, each one a little more desperate than the last until Virgil is left helpless and entirely alone. Unable to stop it. Unable to save them.

“Virgil!”

The Anxious Side jolts awake with a sob rising in his throat again— _the feeling all too familiar by now and yet he could never get used to it_ —and hands on his shoulders. He jerks away instinctively, breathing hard and deep and fast.

“Whoa, Virge. It’s okay. You’re okay. It was just a bad dream.”

The Anxious Side blinks a few times, clearing the blurriness from his eyes. Patton sits on the edge of the couch beside him. A moment later, he realizes Roman and Logan are standing just a few steps behind him. Virgil fists his hands to stop the shaking and shoves them into the pockets of his hoodie to hide them.

He shifts to sit up a bit. He takes in a deep, albeit shaking, breath. “S-Sorry, guys.”  _They’re okay they’re okay they’re okay they’re–_

“No need to be sorry, kiddo,” Patton tells him gently.

Despite the father figure’s words of assurance, Virgil can’t help but feel self-conscious. He ducks his head a little. “I…. I didn’t, like… say anything or whatever, did I?”

He sees Roman and Logan exchange a glance and swallows down a groan. Logan clears his throat. “Our names,” he says with some hesitation. “But very little other than that.”

 _Great_ , Virgil thinks sarcastically, his gaze dropping to his lap.

“Virge?” Patton says softly, causing him to glance back up. “Can I touch you?”

The Anxious Side hesitates for only a moment before he nods. He feels Patton place a hand on his knee. “Do you remember it?” he asks.

Virgil swallows and pulls the hood off his head before sighing and nodding. “Yeah.” He senses more than sees the three other Sides all exchange a glance. Virgil presses and pulls at the edge of the sleeve of his sweatshirt with his hands still buried in his pockets. He can practically feel the worry radiating off them in waves and they shouldn’t be worried. He opens his mouth to tell them exactly that, and to apologize again, when Roman interrupts.

“Virgil,” he says quickly, then stops suddenly before trying again. “You… If we did anything that…” He releases a hard breath.

Roman tripping over his words wasn’t like the fanciful side. Virgil’s brows pull together in confusion as he looks up at him. “What?”

“I think what Roman is trying to say,” Patton says, “is that if we did anything to make you feel unsafe here… with us… we want you know that we’re sorry and we want to fix it.”

“Unsafe with you?” Virgil repeats, confusion ringing clear in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

Logan looks almost as confused as Virgil does. “Virgil, you appeared to be in a not insubstantial amount of distress while you were asleep.” Guilt flashes quickly through his eyes. “The fact that you also were saying our names, and that this is following an argument that elicited a panic attack from you and—“

Virgil’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, holding a hand up. “Whoa, wait. That’s…” He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You guys have it all wrong.”

“We do?” Patton asks, sounding unsure if that’s a good thing or bad.

Virgil takes in a deep breath. He looks at his lap, suddenly unable to look any of them in the eyes. He knows that he has to tell them. He has to clear the air, come clean, help them understand that none of this is  _their_  fault, it’s  _his._  He’s the one who can’t save them. He’s the one who will die trying anyway if it’ll keep them safe.

But he doesn’t want to see the judgement. What kind of protector can’t even save them in his dreams?

“Virgil?” Roman asks quietly when the Anxious Side doesn’t say anything at first.

“It wasn’t… you guys weren’t…” Virgil’s words trip over themselves haltingly. He takes a breath and tries again. “The dream wasn’t about anything you guys did, it… I… watched you all die.”

He hears Patton take in a sharp breath. “Oh, kiddo…” he whispers, and for some reason it makes Virgil’s eyes burn.

The Anxious Side lifts a shoulder as a show of nonchalance that he didn’t really feel. “Been having a lot of those dreams lately.”

“Is that why you haven’t been sleeping this week?” Logan asks quietly after a moment.

Virgil still can’t look at any of them. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s like a dam breaking, the words suddenly tumbling out of his mouth. “Usually it’s just one of you, but it’s… it’s been all of you at some point, or sometimes all three of you at once, and I just… I’m supposed to  _protect you_ , but instead no matter what I do I can’t stop it and you’re dying in my arms and…”

“Virge…” Roman says, taking a step closer.

“It feels so  _real_ ,” Virgil says, his voice catching slightly. “I have to keep you all safe. I can’t… I can’t… lose you. I  _can’t_. And I can’t keep you safe if I’m asleep, and every time I fall asleep I live through it all over again anyway so I thought… I thought I could…”

He feels arms suddenly pulling at him and he’s against something warm and solid. When he looks up, he realizes Patton is hugging him. “Honey,” he’s saying, “why didn’t you tell us what was going on?”

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut. “Because what could you all have done anyway? Protecting you is my job, and the nightmares are in my head.”

“I am quite certain we can come up with a solution together,” Logan says. “But such problem-solving involves communication. I understand your hesitation, but it was largely founded in cognitive distortions that likely were amplified by your lack of sleep as time went on. We want to help you, Virgil.”

“Indeed,” Roman agrees. His voice sounds closer now, but Virgil keeps his eyes closed and breathes in Patton’s familiar and comforting scent. The prince continues. “Nightmares may be a terrific beast that is challenging to vanquish, but we are here to be of whatever assistance is necessary.”

After a moment, Virgil reluctantly pulls away from Patton and brushes at his eyes quickly as the edges of his vision start to blur. “I just don’t know where to start.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Logan looks thoughtful, his eyes flitting slightly as he works through his memory for a potential solution. Roman scratches the back of his neck.

Patton eventually speaks up. “Maybe we just start with a distraction, huh? Get your mind off it? We could watch a movie together. All four of us.”

 _That… actually does sound nice_ , Virgil thinks. “Uh, sure,” he says, more noncommittally that he really feels. “If… that’s what you guys want to do.”

The three other Sides all share a glance. Something seems to spark in Logan’s eyes before he nods. “That seems an adequate starting place. Movie preference, Virgil?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I dunno…  _Inside Out_?”

“A valiant choice!” Roman announces theatrically, crossing over to the television to get it ready. Logan takes a seat on the couch beside Virgil opposite Patton. He sits much closer than Virgil would have been expecting—Logan usually sat on the floor or in the chair rather than right next to one of the Sides—but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s… nice, actually. Virgil is comfortably sandwiched between them. As the movie starts up, Roman comes and lays down across Patton’s lap so that his head in his Virgil’s.

The contact with all three of them at once—Logan’s side a comfortable pressure against his own, Patton’s arm around him, Roman’s head in his lap—drains the tension Virgil hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in all week. He’s asleep before the movie reaches Riley’s first day of school.

He’ll wake up the following morning to find that all of the Sides had more or less fallen asleep in a heap together on the couch. It’ll be the first time in over a week that Virgil will have woken up slowly, naturally, and peacefully.

But for now, Virgil lets himself drift off to sleep with the comfort of the weight and warmth of all of them around him. A reminder that they’re here with him, and that they’re safe.


End file.
